Intangible
by uumiho
Summary: She is the most beautiful thing Neji has ever seen. /KonaNeji, sheer and utter crack. Try it, it's addicting./


_Written for Swiss, my darling dear Konan. This would be literally impossible without her._

* * *

**Intangible**

"I have homework to do," she says icily, unamused. She leans her head back, face impassive; cocks one hip and positions a loosely fisted hand on it.

Konan is a college student; cold, reserved, _unattainable_—and she is the most beautiful thing Neji has ever seen.

He doesn't recall exactly how they first began associating with each other, but he does remember how they met. (The first time he saw her was uneventful, and he was rather uninterested—something he cannot imagine being now.) She goes to school with his cousin, both of them training in science—her, specifically, in Chemistry. They had been lab partners during the first semester, and it had not been uncommon to see her at the compound, pouring away at complex solutions and chemical equations and scribbling things that he, even with such extensive education, could not understand. Brilliant would be an understatement.

After several months of passive acquaintance, Neji found out that she had moved from a different country solely to attend this particular university. Back then, he hadn't heard her speak more than two words together, and did not know her voice well enough to notice the subtle, but still present accent.

She's foreign—British—and decidedly exotic. When she walks, she carries an air that screams she's too good for anyone—but Neji knows this to be impossible, for he had once thought there was no one in the world deserving of _his_ attentions.

Neji stares back at her coolly, unaffected by her dismissal—an unspoken challenge. (This is how they do things, after all.) "You can work on it at the compound." Her presence was so familiar that none of the family bothered anymore upon seeing her, but Neji knows that the issue will not even arise. It is a mutual understanding between them that her work comes before all else, and Konan would never choose him over school. Neji understands this, though he is not sure how he feels about it. He would like to be able to say that he would hold the same principles—his family, after all, treats his grades as if they are the sole matter of importance on this earth (and to them, they are)—but he cannot in full honesty say he cares enough to sacrifice something as rare as Konan for something as futile as a future that is only going to kill him slowly as time goes by.

Now that she won't, however. Somewhere in his heart, Neji knows she will. But this kind of torture—the swaying, beautiful, entrancing, _baiting_ torture—is one that he rather wholly enjoys.

Eyes, cold blue and calculating, fix on him. "You will distract me." He is tempted to call "bullshit," because she makes it quite clear most times how little she is affected by him: he holds no power over her, she will not allow him. Were she to resolve to shut him out, not even the wild antics of his most persistent friends could sway her. This lack of control infuriates him somewhere deep down, and he is determined to change this. Nobody has the right to brush Hyuuga Neji off so passively—not even her.

"I'm sure you will have no trouble," he counters easily. Konan is being cooperative today, which is perhaps the most ironic part. In a more normal situation she would simply say "no" and end the conversation with that, leaving him with little on which to base any argument, lest he come off a begging wot.

There's nothing that can make him fully deny that without this streak of arrogance, the apathetic "too-good-for-you" aura that ran off her in droves, he would not be nearly as attracted to her. To a young, growing teenager like him, she is so _high_. Above everyone, even those who feel it is the other way around. Konan is too good for anyone here, and she knows this.

She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and the oddly girlish flower clip, white fabric petals glued onto a hairpin that she wore almost always, slips with the shifting of a few unruly indigo locks. (He never says anything, but he silently loves her hair colour. He resolves to figure out what colour her natural shade is, but not now. Another time, he will pursue that thought.) Slim hands carefully fold the book of medieval poetry closed, and it disappears into her bag. "And if I simply do not wish to go?" It sounds like a question, but he knows it's not, so he does not answer. Instead, he takes a step towards her—wordless, for all his intent.

They face off, inching closer without really moving—slowly cutting down the space between their bodies. It's offensive on both of their parts, such beings who require the space that they do, narrowing and narrowing it down until one of them cracks first. Standing head-to-head, he's two inches taller than her, just enough to make her have to tilt her chin upwards to look at him. (She hates being looked down on, having to appear lower than someone, and he assumes that that is one of the reasons she prefers to be far enough away from someone so she can see them without having to incline her head. She's tall, taller than most women, in fact, but despite being several years her junior, Neji is taller still—and at this game, it is he to be the victor.) Konan raises her eyebrows and Neji's lip twitches in sardonic satisfaction; the air between them is almost tangible.

He realizes that he could kiss her right now, but refrains—it is not how this game is played, and Neji has never been one to break the rules. He tells himself he's imagining the frighteningly brief look of bitterness (_disappointment?_) in her eyes as he smirks (forced, almost astringent) and turns away, uttering a soft, barely-there taunt under his breath before breaking completely from this _grip_ she has around him—his throat is so tight he can barely breathe—and walks towards the exit of the on-campus park where she often sits and reads—where he always goes when looking for her, because she can almost be referred to as "predictable," in that sense.

When Neji leaves, he doesn't turn around to see her reaction. A brief pause, he doesn't stop walking, but wonders if she's going to acquiesce. He suppresses the near-sigh of satisfaction when the sound of light, controlled footsteps appears on the pavement behind him, and the cool presence at his back tells her that she is indeed following him.

It's nine thirty on a Tuesday night and they're sitting in his room, and she's quizzing him on subjects that are far above even his level. The challenge thrills him. Deft fingers pull the pencil from his hand, and she sketches down a complicated equation on the already marked up paper. "Solve it." His eyes dance between the calculator (which has not been turned on once yet, he has been doing the majority of the math in his head—but she'll wear him down eventually, giving him a problem he cannot solve _without_ its help.) the paper, and the worn table of elements—every aspect of which he has all but memorized, thanks to her insistent teachings. A moment more of staring and Neji discovers that this is a completely new formula—one he has not learned yet—and she wants him to figure it out.

Cursing her silently, he goes to work.

The semester is over, and their visits have become more and more frequent. Neji cannot remember a week where he has not experienced her company—he doesn't need to, furthermore, as he marks everything in his calendar, and it only proves that which he already knows.

One day, in the middle of her holiday break, they're sitting together on his bed and they talk with loosened tongues about things they had never before trusted enough to divulge. He speaks about his family, his resentment, and she tells him about her life in England. (His tale is shorter than hers, because despite being born into a clan both rich and dysfunctional, Neji has never done anything very interesting with his life.) Konan is an orphan—like him—and comes from a poor background. By some stroke of luck and brilliance, she managed to secure a scholarship that aided her in her travel to another country in order to attend the college of her choice--he already knows this, but not in such detail as she is currently telling it. "It is not the most useful major," she admits quietly, "but it suits my needs." Neji doesn't say anything; he didn't think much of Chemistry at all until meeting her.

Her natural hair colour is platinum blonde, and she can't stand it. The only good thing, she tells him, is how easily it takes to the dye. He briefly mentions that the shade is quite flattering on her, and then says no more, for fear of saying too much. Neji always says too much when talking to Konan.

She likes origami.

After a longer while of discussion, he finds out that she was—_is_—a member of a free-thinking band of anarchists. With a voice steady as stone and lacking in all emotion, she describes the first time she killed a man, at no more than sixteen years of age.

Neji knows he is too far gone, when instead of caring that she's a murderer, he asks her how she executed it and managed to avoid being caught. There is a glint in her eye when she responds, telling him that her methods are rather unorthodox—and she did not repeat the action often enough to bring attention to herself. Unsatisfied, Neji asks her to specify. He's never met a murderer before, and the whole scenario fascinates him.

There's a very slight sting of pain from the skin of his arm, and he looks down to see—slightly alarmed—a freshly laid slice on the flesh there. Pale eyes lift to Konan, who is allowing a rare smirk to sheen through her usual façade. Between her index and middle finger is nothing more than a small square of thin, white paper, but one of the four sides is unmistakably stained with a strike of crimson, which is slowly spreading through the fibers of the paper. With an elegance of fingers that he can not help but find the least bit erotic, Konan carefully and methodically crushes the paper in one hand, all the while observing him with the faintest hints of smugness reflecting in her face. She mentions passively that she's resourceful, but Neji isn't paying enough attention to respond.

Staring at the sliver of red with morbid fascination, he asks her how she managed to angle it with enough precision to cut flesh. "Some day," she says, "I might show you."

Her lack of morality is nothing if not captivating, and Neji has never felt as enlightened as he does after discussing philosophy, morals, and other "questionable topics" with her. The views Konan possesses are nothing less than taboo, but with each new con she has another point, another thought-provoking rationale that makes him think and question every thing he's been taught since birth. She is the only person he's been able to hold deep conversation with—even his best friend gives up after a while, when his clipped speech and noncommittal tone become too much for her to tolerate, and she resigns, allowing him his peace. With Konan, things are different. With Konan, they are two of the same breed, and they mutually understand the concept of reading between the lines of what is actually said, and what _could_ have been said.

The presence she holds inspires him like no other, and he believes that they were somehow fated to meet—because he knows that, even though it seems menial now, she has somehow changed his life.

In a few months' time, he'll finally tell her he likes her. She'll raise her eyebrows and discreetly mention the boyfriend she left back in England, and then she'll reach into her coat pocket and pull out a cigarette from the pack she keeps on her despite the rarity of usage, just because she knows he doesn't like smoking. As per usual, she'll offer him one, and he'll refuse not because he cares about the effects, but because the smoke bothers him and he wouldn't want to look foolish in front of her.

They'll stay there for a while; Konan will throw out her cigarette before she finishes—she doesn't like the tobacco at all, she only uses them in the first place because _he_ did—and then he'll take her out to dinner. Neji will drive her home, and she'll invite him in, and they will sit in her too-small living room, watching each other and saying very little, knowing full well that nothing is going to happen and yet halfway wishing something will.

In a year she'll have finished school and, degree in hand, she'll return to Europe: back to her old country, her old life, and her old boyfriend. Neji will stay in America, wondering what he will do with his career and preparing for college, continuing as if that two-year rift in his life had not existed.

Sometimes, he wishes he'd have kissed her.

* * *

**A/N:** Crack. It just spewed forth from a volcano, yes it did. This was constructed solely in honour of the amazing crack pairings pulled off with delicate grace at the wonderful LJ Naruto roleplay community, districtcuria. (In which, I play Neji who is progressing into a neatly chaotic relationship with our darling Akatsuki flower.) I hope the few of you who trusted me enough to read this enjoyed the crack--I know I loved writing it. --Judo


End file.
